Brightside

17 | american idiot

The worst thing about coming home after an evening out was the silence that ripped into the wallpaper and clawed at the carpet.

Maybe this was the comedown cycle. People were always filmed partying after their big wins, after they won the trophy they'd waited their whole lives for. But what came after?

When Rush won the belt, Eddie didn't hear from him for days. It was like he'd reached the top and beat his goal and he had to figure out what was next when he was 29 and felt like he'd reached his lifelong potential and he wasn't sure what the fuck else he was supposed to do with the other decades he had left to live.

Eddie groaned when she forced herself to get out of bed. Coach would be texting her sometime in the next hour to make sure she was icing her eye like she said she would—might as well be truthful and actually do it. Though, frankly, hotel ice was never as good as arena ice. She never understood why. It was like ice at Subway, or the hospital. It was better, somehow.

At the very least, a trip to the ice machine would interrupt her spiral before she considered going to therapy.

The ice machine was on the lowest floor, Eddie took the stairs. She carried her tiny ice bin with her, getting to the machine and starting to pour. It didn't take long to pour what she needed, it wasn't much. There wasn't really a point in taking more than enough for one or two rounds of icing; the leftovers would melt before she could make use of them.

Eddie should've checked before she turned around because she walked straight into the woman waiting behind her.

"Oh, sweet Jesus," Eddie said. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," the woman said. "Don't worry about it."

Eddie shook her container. "Ice, huh?"

God. She could make fun of Axel until she was blue in the face. But put a pretty woman in front of her and she was as much of a bumbling idiot as he was. Embarrassing.

"Ice indeed." The woman laughed. "How was the fight?"

"Huh—"

The woman gently motioned to her own eye. "Should I see the other guy?"

Eddie let out a breath of a laugh. "It was good. I won."

"Congrats."

"What's a hotel like you doing in—" Eddie planned on walking away. She was being a dumb bitch. Maybe it would've been better if she hadn't passed concussion protocol, at least she would've had an excuse. "Um—"

At least listening to her laugh was music to Eddie's ringing ears. She stepped forward to fill her ice bin. "I'm a travel blogger. I write about the food, the culture, the people, the music."

"That sounds beautiful." There were times when Eddie loved boxing the way that this woman loved her job. The days when she got to live the dream were surreal in the greatest way.

"Seeing the world has never felt so great," she said, "and it never gets old seeing musicians I love in concert."

"Are you here for Mick and Moxie's show?"

"Just landed for tomorrow's show," she said, nodding. "Been on my bucket list to see them for a while now. I've been meaning to come to Nola for my blog for ages, and everything pieced together nicely. Little bit of witchcraft."

"Meant to be."

"I'd like to think so."

"What's next on the bucket list?"

The woman grinned. "Couple months, heading out to Vancouver to hopefully see the Northern Lights. Should be mind-blowing."

"Sounds absolutely incredible." Eddie smiled and stuck her hand out. "Eddie, nice to meet you."